It's usually my role to do sports and Bart's role to cook. I take a few kids with me, we go through drive through somewhere and have some supper. Then we go to the game -- whether it be tennis, or wrestling, or baseball, or soccer, or football -- and then we come home. And when I get home the other kids are fed and cared for.
But now, Bart has decided he likes soccer. And I'm home and he's off having fast food and I'm here.
Fortunately, Sadie is planning to be the next Rachel Ray, so she found the ingredients we needed and is making us a nice black bean Mexican pizza with leftover beans I threw in the freezer last time I made them.
ANd so I have spent the last 35 minutes having a pre-mid-and-post meltdown conversation with JImmy who, when he is stuck on stupid, makes the worse decisions ever. I tried a new technique and while working, answered his "why" question over 25 times exactly the same way to see if he would stop asking why, but he never did. He has been in my office this whole time over one silly consequence that he doesn't want to have.
I can't move him, he's inches taller than I now, and nobody here is big enough to move him, and I"m attempting to get work done so I can't be the one who moves (until two day sfrom now when my wireless extender comes, then I will go to another part of the house when this happens.
I'm glad my husband has discovered a love for soccer. But now that I see how this evening is going, I'd sure rather be reburning my legs in the son watching Ricardo score than managing this mess.
OK, enough whining.
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